


walk upon these streets and think of little else

by takenbadgering



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath, Amnesia, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Child Loss, Daddy Issues, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Denial of Feelings, Drabble Collection, Emotional Baggage, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Filicide, Friends to Enemies to Friends, Gen, Ghost JSchlatt, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Guitars, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Not A Fix-It, Not Beta Read, Other, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Technoblade, Recovery, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Floris | Fundy, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Swearing, Tags May Change, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Unresolved Emotional Tension, everyone is sad, i mean it's ghostbur, l'manburg, oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27862701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbadgering/pseuds/takenbadgering
Summary: L’Manburg is full of ghosts.Some fit by, singing about Vienna and Twitch Chats.Some stay hidden, ashamed and overwhelmed by the light.Others follow the residents like Peter Pan’s shadow, mischievous and always causing a mess at the wrong time.-title: These Streets by Bastille
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Eret & Niki | Nihachu, Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Niki | Nihachu & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 158





	walk upon these streets and think of little else

**Author's Note:**

> i needed to post this before tommy is exiled tomorrow (my prediction) and the lore/plot changes so i might end up adding another chapter in the future so sub if you want to be notified of that

* * *

**I.**

Wilbur doesn’t remember a lot when he opens his eyes. Memories go by in flashes with every blink. 

The first one he’s really able to latch onto doesn’t come until he’s sitting up in the grass, the sun far too bright above him. 

It’s of a tall man, with a bright smile and scars on his cheeks and arms. He wears green and has a big bucket hat perched on his blonde hair. But the most vivid thing is his broad wings, wrapped gently around him—protecting him. It takes a moment for who this man is to return to him: Phil, his dad. 

It isn’t until he stands up that the second strong memory hits him, a chicken physically walks through his legs and lays an egg as it does, and there’s the distant sound of a sheep being killed. 

In this memory, his chest throbs and he’s so cold, being held in a man’s arms. The man wears all black—or maybe he’s just covered in soot. But he’s blond and crying into Wilbur’s hair and—he knows him, Philza, he thinks his name is—. He looks down and realizes why his chest is throbbing: there’s a shimmering diamond sword through it. And oh… all he can think is how warm his murderer—Philza—is. 

In the present, Wilbur moves towards the sound of dying sheep. Dazed, he falls into a crater. His first thought is that this crater wasn’t supposed to be here, but he can’t recall where _here_ is. 

But, as he falls in, he feels no thud when he lands. He feels nothing and the small, dead leaves don’t even shiver from his movements. 

He looks up at houses on stilts and lyrics flutter through his head: _my L’Manburg, my L’Manburg._ His fingers itch for a guitar. While he doesn’t know what it means, it makes his heart hurt. 

* * *

**II.**

“Wilbur?” A quiet, slightly raspy voice calls from somewhere out of sight. 

Wilbur looks around for a moment, contradicting sensations rush through his body: bitter resentment and joyous relief. He knows that voice but can’t identify from where. 

“Hey, down here, dumbass.” The voice hisses, louder. It’s coming from below the marketplace. 

Wilbur poked his head over the side and caught a flash of blue for just a moment. More of that giddy feeling fills his body and he rushes to the stairs, eager, though he doesn’t know why. 

“You’re dead, idiot. Why did you take the stairs?” 

Wilbur looked around each thick stilt with a wide smile. 

“Why are you smiling like that? Stop it!” 

Movement out of the corner of his eye had him reaching over blindly. His fingers closed on cloth, surprised actually feel it’s texture. One tug had the owner of that sharp voice drifting out with a glare. Wilbur just beamed at him. 

“What?!” They snapped. They had tired eyes and their body sagged slightly, like it was held down under an invisible force. Or maybe they just spent too much time with Tommy, whatever that meant. Either way, they had large horns curling around their head and a soft looking mop of dark hair. They wore a blue hoodie, but otherwise existed on a greyscale, like himself. 

Their name was on the tip of his tongue but he felt like every second passed in silence meant a higher chance they would say something objectively offensive. 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Wilbur?” Their eyebrows creased. 

“We were friends, weren’t we?” He knows he sounds breathless even without lungs. 

“What? I mean, I guess, but that was a long time ago.” They wrinkled their nose. 

Unable to resist anymore, he hugged them. Relieved that he could still feel the sensation of touching them. 

They sputtered for a moment before pulling away forcefully. “Why are you acting so strange, Wilbur?! You’re acting like nothing happened!” Their voice shook at the end. 

Wilbur’s smile wavered too. “Something happened?” 

“I— yeah! A whole lot happened!” 

Wilbur stared and their quick fury quickly quelled itself. 

“Do you… do you not remember?” 

“I remember dying,” Wilbur’s voice sounded distant for a moment. “And that this place is called L’Manburg. But that’s it. It’s so familiar, but it’s also not.” He closed his eyes, swaying slightly. 

“That’s what happens when you blow something up.” They mumbled. 

Wilbur’s eyes snapped open. “What?!”

“Nothing!!” They shook their head quickly. “I… it doesn’t matter. I’m Schlatt.” He held out his hand. “We used to be mortal enemies.” 

Yes, he thinks, that sounds right, mostly anyway. Wilbur smiled again and shook his hand. “I’m Wilbur, and I think we should be immortal friends.” 

* * *

**III.**

Schlatt isn’t stupid; he’s well aware of all the damage he caused. He knows showing his face would only make things worse, and that’s fine. He’s perfectly happy in solitude—at least, that’s what he constantly tells himself. 

Quackity is doing so much better with Tommy and Tubbo, it _almost_ makes his unbeating heart ache. They were supposed to be best friends, since Wilbur was sworn to fight as his opposition. 

_Prime_ , he’s pathetic… 

He sticks to the dark corners and makes sure he never rustles even a single leaf. It would be cold, hiding, but he can’t feel sensations anymore. 

And when he sometimes notices Niki or Tubbo staring in his direction, glossy eyed and spaced out, he makes sure to stay extra still, refusing to risk being found. 

And when Quackity sometimes catches his eyes mid-sentence, stuttering and breathless for a moment, he’s sure to go completely transparent, silently gaslighting his former vice president into thinking he’s hallucinating. 

And when Fundy sometimes runs off to cry and incidentally picks the corner he’s lounging in, he’s always sure to provide a single pat on the back, sympathetic to having a shitty father and also to having to deal with Wilbur, and vanishing before Fundy can look up and see him. 

He doesn’t miss substance as much as he thought he would. 

His life was spent consuming everything placed before him. His death is being spent thankful he’s not allowed at the table anymore. 

After everything, he worries he would fall back into old habits, given the option. Old things are always safer. 

He supposes that’s why he haunts the lands he used to rule. 

* * *

**IV.**

Logically, Phil knows he’s in shock: his joints are locked around his son’s cold body, his lips are moving in a familiar motion, his ears pick up the tune of an old lullaby he used to sing when his boys were young over a backdrop of white noise, his body is swaying in time with the music. 

Wilbur isn’t humming along like he usually does. It takes a second for him to remember why. 

Distantly, someone is saying his name, but their voice doesn’t register as something that requires his attention. Wilbur is all that needs him, right now. 

His darling son— _always beautiful, handsome, perfect—does he—did he know?—how perfect he will always be—he had always been—to Phil?—to their family?—he’s his son!_ —is smiling in his arms. His eyes are half closed and the bags under his eyes are heavy. 

For a moment, before his brain catches up, he expects Wilbur to start singing along to the lullaby, like he did when he was little. 

Someone touches Phil’s arm, trying to pull him away, and he registers a strange, desperate noise as he holds onto Wilbur tighter. He doesn’t register that he’s the one who made the noise. 

“Dad.” Technoblade’s monotony cuts through the fog. “We need to go, now.” 

As sensation seeps back into his bones, Phil slowly tilts his head to look up at his oldest son and gives him a watery smile. “My son,” he whispers softly and his voice cracks as his eyes wander back down to Wilbur. 

“I know, Dad. We’ll come back, I promise,” Techno kneels and gently pulls Phil’s hands away from Wilbur’s body. 

“He needs a funeral; I—where’s your brother?—Tommy would—he deserves—Wilbur would want you two—why isn’t he here?” There’s no song filling his ears anymore, just Techno’s voice and white noise. 

“He’ll be here soon,” Techno lies as he helps Phil stand on shaky legs. He purposely positions himself to hide the bloody diamond sword in the corner. “I’m going to keep you safe, Philza.” 

“But, I’m your father—I’m the one who’s—I couldn’t save—protect— _Prime_ , Techno, I think—he blew it up—and he asked me—I couldn’t—I wouldn’t hurt him—he looked so tired—I don’t—he just wanted to rest,” A sob forced its way out of his mouth and he collapsed fully into Technoblade’s shoulder. 

“I know, it’s okay now,” Techno soothed softly. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.” 

* * *

**V.**

The Sword of Damocles is unforgiving, Tubbo is learning. 

It sits just out of the corner of his eye and sometimes, when he’s not looking, it looks like someones cutting it free. But when he looks, the blade and it’s liberator vanish before he can make out any identity. 

Somedays, he swears there was a flash of red fur and a black hat. Other days, he would bet money on soft giggles and perfectly lined, optimistic eyes. And occasionally, during his bad days, he would hold his breath as he recognized blonde hair and a goading voice calling his name. 

He would sit down in a secluded area, usually on a roof where he could still breathe fresh air and not be crushed by too-close walls, those days. He would take time to remember his predecessors. 

Wilbur Soot, who founded L’Manburg, who fought alongside his men to win their independence, who did his best to make everyone happy, who established democracy, and who was thrown out as a direct result of that, who was exiled underground, who lost his mind, and who blew up his own country.

Schlatt, who won L’Manburg’s election, who exiled Wilbur and Tommy, who renamed the country to Manburg, who opened the borders to everyone, who successfully challenged Dream without a war, who kept Quackity close when he made Tubbo decorate his own public execution, who then lost the support of his own people, who lost his mind, and who drank and smoked himself to death in front of everyone. 

They both lost their mind and ruined themselves. Is that what Tubbo’s damned to become? Is that what happens when the sword finally falls? 

In his periphery, the Sword of Damocles sways like a large predator, preparing to pounce and crack his sanity in two. 

* * *

**VI.**

In the dead of night, when New L’Manburg sleeps, Tommy screams. 

First, he screams at Wilbur’s grave, and he cries too. 

Next, he screams at the ghost of Wilbur, and he cries then too.

After that, he screams at Philza, and he cries once again. 

Finally, he screams into his pillow, and he doesn’t have tears left to cry. 

Everything is so complicated, but also so simple. 

He hates it and he’s never felt more alone than he does now. 

* * *

**VII.**

“Your fiancé is cheating on you,” the ghost of Wilbur Soot supplies unhelpfully. His translucent face is twisted into a frown and Fundy wants to throw something at it. 

“I know,” He scoffs softly, looking back down at what he’s crafting. 

“He doesn’t care about you,” Ghostbur continues, slower, as if he’s trying to get Fundy to understand something. But he already knows, and he also knows Wilbur could _never_ understand. 

“Yes he does.” That’s a lie and they both know it. 

“Why are you with him if he doesn’t love you?” 

Fundy gripped the sticks in his hand tighter and physically bit his tongue to stop himself from snapping. It wouldn’t do any good, if he did. Wilbur would just leave in a rush, mind too unraveled to handle hearing the harsh truths. 

But the truth still sits heavy in his mouth—

— _because no one loves me—_

_—because_ you _didn’t love me—_

_—because, maybe, if his husband is from L’Manburg, he will hesitate next time he decides he wants to harass the country—_

_—because he’s the only one who ever showed minimal interest in me—_

_—because you’re dead, I barely know Phil, Techno is a traitor, and Tommy is a child—_

_—because you left me, and you left mom, and all I had for too long was Schlatt—_

_—because, all the leaders of all the countries, both past and present, are assholes but at least Dream keeps those close to him safe, when he’s out being an ass—_

—but instead, he says, “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t _want_ to understand, Ghostbur, believe me.” 

Wilbur looks down for a moment, and then speaks so softly, if Fundy wasn’t part fox, he wouldn’t have caught it. “So it’s about how horrible I am—or, was.” 

Exhaustion bleeds into his bones and he desperately wants a nap, all of a sudden. With a deep sigh, he looks towards his dead father, and says, “Yeah, it is.” 

Wilbur nods once and then is gone. Somehow, it just makes Fundy feel even more lonely. 

* * *

**VIII**.

It takes Niki exactly 7 days to understand what she didn’t before. 

On the first day, Niki sees the bastard, traitor Technoblade and wise, too-old Philza sitting in a field uncomfortably close to New L’Manburg’s borders. 

She marches towards them, approaching for the side. She’s got a litany of curses and questions on her tongue as she wades through the knee-length grass. But she stops short, and all the anger drains from her. 

Philza is openly _weeping_. His wings drag behind him as his body heaves. Techno is leaning on his shoulder slightly, and tilts his head her direction slightly. Phil doesn’t notice. 

What really makes her breathless is that Techno’s cheeks are also wet and his eyes are bloodshot. 

As mad as she is, as much as she wants to know what happened with Wilbur, as much as she wants to know where he is, and as much as she wants to know why they blew the place up, she doesn’t have it in her to step forward—to intrude. 

On the second day, Niki sees Tommy scream at the L’Mantree in the dead of night. He’s crying and shaking with emotion. 

She watches him with sad eyes for hours, and, eventually, when he’s stopped, she slides on her slippers and grabs a throw pillow and blanket off of the couch. 

When she reaches Tommy, he’s barely awake. He’s mumbling something she can’t hear, but she doesn’t care enough to try and decipher it. 

Instead, she wraps him in the blanket and places the pillow under his head. He yawns and says something that is suspiciously close to a thanks. She smiles and decides not to hold it against him. 

On the third day, Niki is walking with Eret, discussing ways that they can prove themself to Tubbo, Tommy, and Fundy again. Offhandedly, they mention that they hope Tubbo won’t end up like Wilbur and Schlatt. 

She stops dead and grabs their shoulders. She demands to know what that means. 

Eret shifts uncomfortably and won’t meet her eyes. 

She begs. 

They gently shake out of her grip and look down. It's not their tale to tell, they whisper before running from her, pale with fear like they saw a ghost. 

On the fourth day, Niki gathers things from Pogtopia for Tubbo and Tommy. Both boys refused to return, but needed things retrieved from their old rooms. She’d volunteered. 

She got Tubbo his things first. Then Tommy. On the way out, she passed Wilbur’s room. She half-expected to see him in there, strumming on his guitar, even though the ravine was silent. It was empty. She still feels disappointed. 

She swipes the well loved guitar before she blows out the lanterns and reseals the tomb. 

On the fifth day, Niki spies Phil building his house in New L’Manburg. She bounds up to him, deciding not to mention the day in the field. 

He greets her with a tired smile and offers a tour. 

She accepts and marvels at his craftsmanship. He accepts every compliment humbly. 

She tilts her head when he explains how he plans to lay out the upstairs, and asks if Wilbur will be living with him. Obviously Techno won’t—he’s already fucked off to _Prime_ -knows-where, and Tommy already has a shaky looking house. 

Phil’s smile falls and he looks lost for a moment, before stuttering through half-formed sentences. She cuts him off with an apology and leaves quickly after that. 

On the sixth day, Niki goes to Tubbo’s house. Fundy and Tommy are over, but she kindly asks to talk to Tubbo alone. When the fox and petulant child start to tease and mock, albeit lighthearted, she sets them with stern glares and they quickly back down. 

They move to Tubbo’s makeshift presidential office. 

Here, she asks the boy, flat out, what happened. Tubbo tries to evade, but she isn’t having it. She nails him to his chair with her eyes and asks again: what happened the day Wilbur blew up L’Manburg. 

Now, Tubbo tells her. His voice is thick, and by the end, she understands why; Wilbur died. 

On the seventh day, Niki stares at her ceiling. She hadn’t moved since she lied down for bed 12 hours ago. She’s trying to understand why Wilbur would do the things he did. 

She is out of tears to cry, and understands why Tommy yelled at the L’Mantree for hours. She understands why Phil and Techno wept in the field. She understands why Eret evaded her. And she understands why no one wants to utter a single word about it. She almost wishes it’d stayed that way. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote and posted this instead of working on my secret santa gift that's due in less than a week, so please appreciate this
> 
> also, context for VIII, niki said on stream that canonically her character doesn't know what happened to wilbur and that as far as she knows, wilbur just kinda disappeared (she hasn't met ghostbur)


End file.
